Something Immortal

Child's Play pt 2

         True to his part of the deal, Peter worked on the song. He was right about being unable to write a song. Peter had no sense of rhyme or rhythm. He began to take lessons from Aunt May, who seemed to know everything. He wasn't really sure what he wanted to write about. Summer? Winter? Himself? You? Songs were usually about romance, but that felt too cliche. Besides, he felt like you really weren't the romantic type. At least, not from what he had noticed.

Honestly, you didn't care about what Peter wrote. You were just happy that he was able to keep on going to school and still earn money. At least you were already assured that May and Peter wouldn't get evicted. Also, writing the song took Peter's mind off of his worries and anxieties. When he was writing, that's where all of his focus went.

"I dunno, Doll," he told you one day after you read through the few lines he had managed. "I still don't think I'm cut out to write songs like some canary."

"What's that, Pete? Did you just call me 'Doll?'" you asked, grinning.

He turned a bit red. "I'm not sure why I called you that. If you don't like it-"

"It's fine. I call you Pete all the time. Doll is a perfectly fine nickname," you assured him. "And this song is turnin' out just fine, Pete. You're earnin' your checkers."

"Booshwash. You're just sayin' that," Peter complained.

"Don't be dingy, Pete. I wouldn't lie to you." You rolled your eyes at him. "It's going to be Valentine's Day soon. Got your lamps on a dame?"

Peter shook his head. "They're all simple-minded and from the same mold. Besides, haven't you heard? They want to date me, but only for my looks. The ladies apparently hate my personality."

"Why? Because you don't treat ladies like they're a plaything? Or because you're a cement mixer?" you asked playfully.

"Ha ha, very funny. We have a comedian on our hands. I could care less if I had graceful dance moves or not. You're a cement mixer yourself," he retorted.

"Yeah, and that's why I'm allowed to call you one." You put his notebook down in his desk and sat down. "Then what are you going to do on Valentine's Day? I haven't got a date either."

"How about I take you to a romantic dinner, serenade you, and then take you to the dance in the Apple?" he joked.

"Cool. It's a date then," you teased.

The both of you had gone to the dance in the Apple every year since you turned nine. Besides dancing, there was other activities, such as crafts and lotteries. You didn't really expect there to actually be a romantic dinner and a serenade, but just going to the dance would be fun on its own.

Peter laughed. "Sure. I'll pick you up at five."

Wait, you thought. The dance doesn't start until seven.

"Peter, are you seriously going to take me to dinner? Because you don't have to," you said hurriedly, not wanting him to have to spend money on you.

"I'll figure it out. And dinner doesn't always have to be at a restaurant." He winked at you. "Catch you later, Doll."

This is not good on the heart, you thought, your heart jumping as he walked away. Why does he have to be like this?

...

"Just where do you think you're going?" your father demanded as you hurried around the house, getting ready for when Peter arrived.

"I'm just going to the Valentines Day dance in the Apple," you replied. "It's a tradition, ya know. I heard it's gonna be quite the romp this year."

"But the dance isn't for another two hours! You aren't going anywhere with the Parker boy, are you?"

"Of course I am. You know quite well that wherever I go, he is going to go," you snapped.

"IF YOU KEEP SEEING HIM I WILL DISOWN YOU FROM THIS FAMILY!" He bellowed.

"MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THIS FAMILY!" you yelled back, slamming the front door as you went.

Sitting on the front steps, you took deep, long breaths. The arguing had gotten worse over the last few weeks, ever since he had found your journal opened up on your bed. Sadly, it was opened right on the page where you had poured out your feeling about Peter, trying to imagine what you would say to him if you ever built the confidence to admit your love to him. But, in a sort of way, your father had stopped trying to hold you back. He would yell and threaten you, but would never follow through. It was both a relief and a concern. You just wanted your father to be proud of you, to love you and not care about who you loved.

"Hey, Doll."

You turned around to see Peter, who was definitely a sight for sore eyes. He was wearing a mustard-yellow sweater, a color that you had never seen on him before but that really complimented his complexion, and long, brown slacks with his regular brown-leather shoes. You were wearing an f/c fur-lined dress, since it was pretty cold, with knee-high boots. Your hair was down in tight curls, warming your neck.

"Ready to go, Doll?" he asked, grinning.

It was so great to see that old light in his eyes; a spark of boyish excitement. You had thought that it had died long ago, and yet, there it was, shining in his bright brown eyes. When you saw it, you knew instantly that you would do anything in the world to maintain that spark of joy.

"Of course I am," you replied eagerly, accepting his outstretched hand.

What Peter had planned was actually pretty fun. The both of you went back to his house and tried to make a meal with only what was in a few certain cupboards. The both of you chatted and laughed as you went to work, mixing and tossing and baking. After a few minutes, you had managed to make some biscuits and Peter had put together a poor man's meal; sausages, diced potatoes, and onions with a bit of salt and some oil he had found all fried in a small pan. You loved this meal, mostly because it was gentle on the taste buds after the extravagant meals that your family's cook made.

"So...about the serenade...the song's not ready. But I was thinking that we could work on the song before we have to go to the dance," Peter suddenly announced.

You nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a plan. Have you gotten to the melody?"

"Doll, we looked at the song just last week. I don't have any idea what I'm going to do for the melody," he sighed. "I was thinking that's what you could help me with. And I have a few more lines written, so those need to be looked at too."

"Don't worry too much about it, Peter. We don't have much time before the dance," you told him, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Besides, I love what you've written so far. It's very poetic, and not in a mushy way. It's thoughtful."

He grinned. "Thanks, Doll. We should probably start walking if we want to get good places."

"That's a good idea."

The both of you left Peter's house and hurried across the sidewalks and roads, surrounded by multiple other couples that were heading to the dance.